


go follow your gem

by phanetixs



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Christmas Introspection, Cornelia-centric, F/M, Gender Norms, M/M, Motherhood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 19:52:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17107073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phanetixs/pseuds/phanetixs
Summary: “B-but,” Kathryn spluttered. “You don’t? That’s not, that’s not...but you’re a woman.”The boys winced and Martyn looked close to an argument, hilariously enough, and all Cornelia felt was sadness that her gender was reduced tothis,to a single-minded archaic Purpose.Or, Cornelia decides not to have children.





	go follow your gem

**Author's Note:**

  * For [phloridas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/phloridas/gifts).



> hiii! from claire's lovely prompt: <http://phloridas.tumblr.com/post/179944378091/dear-secret-santa-alright-so-my-3rd-prompt-ended>
> 
> this was very interesting to write from cornelia's pov! i tried to handle the situation with utmost respect as this is a dilemma that a lot of women struggle with. 
> 
> ultimate thanks to [insectbah](insectbah.tumblr.com) for helping me with this! not word-for-word as in the prompt (sorry, claire!) but i think i managed to integrate the main parts :) diverted from canon a lil bit - hope you enjoy nonetheless! 
> 
> title from sufjan stevens' "john my beloved"

 

 

 

>   _My secret is a terrible secret, and holy in my heart._
> 
> _Miguel de Unamuno, tr. by Dave Oliphant, from Rosary: “Our Secret”_

  
-

See, Cornelia never expected her life to turn out this way.

She never thought she’d be making music at 40, playing piano till her fingers were numb and singing till her voice was hoarse and crackly. It was _such_ a pipe dream, _such_ , and she was told as much, too, growing up in suburban London town - and no one wanted to be a _singer_ , what an unrealistic job prospect, Corn. You could do better.

She _could_ \- thing is, she didn’t want to. She felt melodies in her bones, nerve endings alight when she touched her piano. She was an Aquarius, creative to a fault, and it shone through her songs, the bum-da-bum of the bass. She never stood a chance, her dream bigger than her being, sometimes.

Another thing: a partner. She always fancied herself relatively solitary, as most tortured musicians were. Holed up in a hipster cafe, back booth in the corner, scribbling furiously into her notebook with no care for others milling around, chasing their capitalistic dreams. In the deep recesses of her subconscious, though, she’d always imagined herself with a built Englishman with Nordic roots, not dissimilar to her own. Shaggy blonde hair and blue eyes and arms to keep her warm on the darkest days.

Fate saw this, probably, and figured she ought to fuck it up because surely nothing about Cornelia could ever be _ordinary_.

And so, at a gig in Manchester, whilst singing for her supper and hair just dyed redder, in a satin shirt and her nicest floral pumps, she’d randomly bumped into a tall man on her way out of the loo. Tall but lanky, a shaggy haircut and voice a deep baritone, he’d exclaimed, “ _Oh_.”

She’d steadied herself, brushed dust off her shirt and looked up properly. “Oh.”

And that was how it began.

 

-

 

It’d taken Martyn two months.

(Two glorious months of (a few) hot dates - _ice skating is not considered a_ sexy _time out, Mar_ \-  and circling around each other and not asking “ _do you feel...are you…_ ” because it was implied. It was implied in Cornelia’s perpetual blush and Martyn’s stuttering, their flirty texts and holding hands just _because_.)

They’d been eating at this random Indian place - Martyn hilariously had a spot of chutney on his chin and kept dabbing at it with his  _dirty_ tissue - when he’d said, “So...ah. My brother.”

The elusive Phil character, Cornelia thought. She’d heard sporadic mentions of him over conversation and that one time Phil texted when they were on a quasi-date, but nothing substantial. Not until now, at least.

“Yes?” She’d replied, tearing up more of her naan.

“He’s. Uh, well, he just reached a million subscribers on YouTube.”

They way Martyn had said it, shy and jittery (what was he expecting from her...judgement?) made it even more imperative for her to tread lightly. It’s not like she was shocked by it all, nor was she angry that Martyn hadn’t said anything earlier, but picking out good words seemed most important. And so she’d taken a sip of water and pushed a hand through her curls and said, still rather stupidly, “That’s ace.”

Martyn visibly relaxed (definitely expecting judgement, then) and took her hand over the table.

She couldn’t help but ask, “He’s famous?” And she thinks she managed to keep the envy out of her voice well enough. Fame was her dream, in some abstract, contemptuous way, after all.

“Mm,” Martyn shrugged. “Kind of? Him and Dan have been making videos for ages now.”

“Dan?”

And that had been the start of something, too.

 

-

 

They’d first met in the tumultuous tail end of 2012 - a bit before Christmas. Cornelia’s first with the Lesters, a year and a bit after meeting Martyn. To say she was nervous was an absolute _understatement_ , but she’d met the lot of them before and they were fabulously welcoming, so alike Martyn in the best ways (and very fond of her fiery red hair.)

Anxiety filled her bones but she knew, she’d be alright.

Munching on some butter cookies and dragging her socks over the wooden paneling, she was passing by a window when a flurry of movement happened outside. It was Phil, she thought, looking so similar to the man she would be content to spend the rest of her life with. The sentiment made her smile, her eyes glazed over, and she almost didn’t notice the sullen-looking boy beside Phil.

That was...Dan. Strange, since Martyn had mentioned the two were splitting up for the holiday. Dan with his piecey fringe and hunched shoulders, looking all too stressed for the festive season. Poor lamb, she thought, watching as they struggled through greeting the family, supplying only a vague answer about Dan’s arrival. 

Martyn slipped her some strong brandy that night and whispered that he thought Dan and Phil were having troubles. Something about a video leaking.

What would happen if they broke up, Martyn had worried aloud.

She’d glanced at the two, huddled in the corner and arguing softly.

If they chose to remain together even at their worst, if they’d rather spend their time arguing than be anywhere, with anyone else, then, there’s hope for them yet. And so, she brought Martyn close and kissed the furrow between his eyebrows and mentioned the wonders of Fate.

“You’d be a good mother one day,” Martyn said, gazing fondly at her, a non sequitur.

“Mm, one day,” she mumbled noncommittally, and of all the lies she’s made in her life, that one had to have been the worst.

 

-

 

It’s not that she despised children.

In a world with corrupt politicians, malicious criminals, and people who vehemently advocated for pineapple on pizza, it was hard to group children in the same category. Sweet-smelling babies and rambunctious toddlers. Her kind of people.

That was the problem, at the root of it all.

She loved them _too_ much, and quite honestly, she wouldn’t trust her mothering skills if _her_ life depended on it, let alone her own flesh and blood.

She was clumsy and irresponsible and too caught up with chasing her own unattainable dreams and why would she want to bring an innocent, vulnerable child of her own into this mess at all?

 

-

 

The first person she told was Dan.

It wasn’t planned, nor did she ever intend to tell _him_ about her worries - he already had too many of his own - but there was rosé and Martyn had joked before about their future kids play fighting in their new garden and she needed to _vent_ , alright?

“I don’t think I want to have children.”

The brothers had gone out for dinner with their Crazy Manc Aunt Glinda, and there was Friends on the telly and she was wearing her comfiest kaftan.

“Alright,” Dan said, betraying only a hint of surprise.

“Don’t you want to know _why_?” she’d replied, desperate to talk, to explain herself.

“Well, you’re not obligated to have children, contrary to popular belief. Does it matter _why_ you don’t?”

That was the thing she loved most about Dan - their relationship having taken a steep upward incline in the pits of 2013, in the “Fuck it, World. We’re Dan and Phil” of 2014 - he’s always down for an intelligent, objective chat.

“I _know_ it doesn’t. We’re not in the Regency era, though I do _know_ you and Phil like roleplaying Pride and Prejudice in bed.”

Dan had blushed profusely and finished his drink with a long swig.

She’d continued, “I know. But I feel so fucking guilty. That’s all there is. Guilt when Martyn talks about his dad bringing the boys up, what he’d like to do with our kids. I want to _provide_ that for him. And it’s not that I _can’t_ , it’s that I don’t want to. How crap am I?”

“Corn,” Dan started, scooting over to the seat next to her on the sofa and slinging an arm around her shoulders. He was always so warm, so comforting, and god, she was already blinking back tears.

“You have autonomy over your own body. No one can tell you what to do with it, not even the man you’ve been in love with for years now.”

She sighed. “If I had to take a bullet for Mar, I would. No hesitation. But I can’t bring myself to do this, and this is arguably more important than any other decision we’ve made as a couple. What if...he.”

She couldn’t bring herself to say it.

Dan brought her closer and cuddled her to his chest. “He will get over it. Same with Phil if I didn’t want little ‘uns around. It’s taken me awhile to realise this, but he loves me unconditionally. As is Martyn with you. Personally, I think it runs in their blood,” Dan said, smiling softly at the end.

“How do I tell him, Dan? How do I break his heart like that?” she’d gasped, finally realising the extent of her situation. She’d been leading him on for years like that, non-committed shrugging and mumbles far from a denial; he’d be _shattered_.

“He’ll hurt, I can’t tell you he won’t. You’ll hate yourself for a bit, but big decisions are like that, Corn. If you want to spare his feelings, you’d have to bear a child you’d rather not have. You’d hate _yourself_ a lot more for that, in the long run. Is that what you want?”

He’s right.

“You’re right, little bro,” she said, cracking a small smile. Dan always hated that term - would retort indignantly, “But I’m _so_ much taller than you!” - but she found it always apt enough. Cornelia loved him like a brother and they _will_ be family once the Lesters have their way with them.

“I’m proud of you,” she told him.

“What for?” Dan replied, turning his face towards her, smushing his cheek into the back of the sofa. He looked so young like this, and it’s altogether too easy to forget how much he’s been through, how much he’s had to fight.

“For being you. I think a lot of the time that’s the hardest to achieve.”

Dan snorted derisively, “But I’m _not_ , though. Quote, Dan and Phil, unquote, is veiled by a hell of a lot of pretense, innit?”

She shook her head. “I’m not talking about whatever you choose to show publicly - though your career is something to be proud of as well. I’m talking about _you_ , Daniel, you wonderful, kind, loving man. You’re always _that_ , even when the demons in your head are louder than you. You’re remarkable.”

Dan looked up, eyes brimming with tears - like he’s needed to hear that for awhile now.

“Thank you,” he said, voice crackly with tears. “I’m proud of you, too. Admitting something like this mustn’t be easy.”

She sighed. “I’m torn up on the inside, trust me. But, I think I needed to get that off my chest. I’ve known for quite a bit now, but I haven’t had the guts to…”

There was a beat of silence.

“Well, just know, when me and Phil have kids, they’ll be yours too,” Dan said with a smirk.

She let out a helpless wet giggle. “I don’t think that’s how biology works, dingus.”

“No. They’d be yours when me and Phil leave those menaces to you two while we catch up on sex or sleep. Or both.”

“Yuck,” she laughed, “I foresee much of that in our future, unfortunately.”

And she hoped she was right.

 

-

 

“We won’t end up being like those parents on Dance Moms, right?”

“I guess not? Have you ever proper argued with anyone before?”

“With myself, in the mirror, does that count?”

 

-

 

She confessed to Martyn on a cozy night in October, huddled in a blanket under the stars. And high off their arses.

“No, no, answer me!” Cornelia said through a giggle, “90s Gods: N’Sync _or_ Boyz II Men?” A tough one indeed and Martyn wore a pout to show for it while thinking of a neutral answer. Cornelia flicked his chin and moved further into the warmth of his body and revelled in the feeling of her boy close, a spliff between his lips.

Finally, though, Martyn sighed and let out an slow embarrassed murmur, “I had a Justin phase.”

Cornelia let out a peal of laughter, wheezing too loud for the quiet rooftop they were illegally on, and she poked his side. “You had a _Justin_ phase - I fucking _knew_ it! Aw, chin up, babe, nothing to be ashamed about. You and like 15 million girls did.”

“It was Phil’s influence, though,” Martyn said defensively. “Pretty sure Justin turned him gay or summat. Nose pressed real close to the telly when MTV was on. Wasn’t foolin’ no one.”

She grabbed the joint and took a long pull. “You get all Northern when you’re high, y’know?”

“I know,” Martyn grinned, watching her with kind eyes. Always grinning, always kind, Martyn was, and Cornelia loved him with every beat of her heart. “And you _like_ my Northern drawl, don’t ya, baby,” he said suggestively, his fingers crawling up her socked ankle.

“Mmhm,” she replied, feeling all floaty and playing along, “makes you all sexy. Strong...like your grandad.”

“ _Corn_ ,” Martyn groaned, pulling her firmly into his lap by her knees. “No talk of family during sexytime, please. Mine, yours. Not even our future one.”

Her stomach flipped and her throat itched - dry from smoke and her lies by omission. She lifted her head off his chest and looked at him straight, thumb tracing his cheekbone. She’s sure he could sense the fear emanating off her body, and he pulled her close by the hips and waited for whatever she had for him, the wonderful, wonderful boy.

“Mar,” she started, “I love you.”

“Why does this feel like a breakup,” he joked, eyes flitting away before settling on her again. More nervously he said, “It’s not a breakup, is it? Was the weed I got that bad?”

 _It might be a deal breaker for you_ , she thought, noisily swallowing any residual anxiety. She had to tell him, she _had_ to. It would affect his life just as much as hers, eventually, and she’d been avoiding it for far too long.

“Uh. No to both, but, there’s something I haven’t exactly told you. And...I hope you don’t get too gutted, though I won’t blame y-”

“My darling,” he cut in, “I love you, too. Whatever it is, we’ll deal with this together.” He pled in his tone and his eyes showed fear and hope in equal amounts - she was really about to break his heart, wasn’t she.

“ _Alright_. Alright. I, uh, well. To put it simply, I don’t want children.”

A beat of silence.

Then, “ _What_ ,” Martyn gasped, absolutely _devastated._

She felt on the brink of tears already, looking at his face. “I just. I don’t know, I’m cocking this up already. Crap. I _love_ you. I _could_ have your children but I haven’t wanted that for awhile now,” she said honestly, hanging her head.

“Since _when_?” he asked, anger seeping into his tone.

She deserved it, expected it, but flinched anyway. “Since I was 20.”

“What the _fuck_ , Corn. You’re  _35_ , we’ve been dating bloody _four years_.” And more painfully, “Had a right laugh at me, did ya, when I talked about our kids.” His face was red and his fists were clenched and she had never felt further away from him than that moment.

“I never did,” she pled. “It’s harder for me, you know that. I want a career full time - I can’t bring a child into that.”

She heaved a breath and tried to articulate all she’s been feeling for the latter half of her life.

“A part of me will always resent our kid for needing my full attention, for not allowing me to go on tour because I’d want to read to them at night. I can’t go half-arsed in one or the other - and I’m not giving up on my _passion_ , Mar. I’ve wanted to make music since I was six.”

“Babe,” Martyn said, breathing heavily. “All women have _passions_ they want to pursue. It’s not like a child would erase any of that. You can handle both, and I have no doubt that _we_ can do it. You’re just being silly about this.”

She wrenched away from him. “I’m not being silly at all - I understand the gravity of this as much as you do. I don’t _want_ to handle both. I don’t want to have a kid that you’ll have to take care of at night while I work. I don’t want to have a kid growing up wondering if their mum would be home to make dinner and help with their homework. I don’t want to carry a child for _nine_ months only to feel like a failure for the rest of their life. That’s  _my_ choice to make.”

Dan’s voice echoed in her head. _Your choice_ and _he loves you unconditionally_.

After that, it’s two weeks until Martyn speaks to her again.

 

-

 

Kathryn Lester was not twelve when she first wanted to have babies. She loved them, and she remembers a time when she wanted ten, at _least_. The number gradually dwindled as she got older, experiencing the plight of the British working class in the Thatcher 80s, but the dream remained intact nonetheless.

Then came the two loves of her life and she couldn’t have been a happier mother or wife. She was utterly _fulfilled_ as a human being, the feeling indescribable.

Both her sons roundabout 30, she was anxious to feel that once again.

She confided in her husband, “Will they not have children? Is that...is that not…”

He pulled her close, mumbled into her hair, “And if they’re not, we’d be just as happy for them, won’t we? It’s not our decision, Kath.”

Always a voice of reason, her husband was.

(But she tried nonetheless. She loudly reminisced about her sons as babies, and _brought_ neighbours’ babies over under the guise of needing to be babysat as their parents went off to an event or another.

She mentioned offhandedly to Phil - when Riley the 3 year-old gem of Barker Street was preoccupied with her sippy cup - “This will be you in a couple of years.” And watched happily as he blushed and suctioned himself to Dan’s side by Riley.

She said to Cornelia when visiting her and Martyn’s new flat, 2015 it must have been, “Oh, how sweet a baby would look here.” And she watched on confusingly as Cornelia’s face turned red and her smile soured, stuttering a vague response.)

A few years later, Christmas with the family - early Christmas to make up for Dan having to publicly be away for most of the actual period itself - and Kathryn was at her wits end. _Nothing is happening_ , she lamented internally as she angrily stewed gravy and mashed potatoes. _Do they want me dead first_ , her soliloquy cried.

What was the _problem_ , she wondered, at the root of it all.

 

-

 

Cornelia was uncomfortable, to say the least. Her future mother-in-law was not being subtle at _all_ , and it was eating away at her. She was, in turn, eating too many crisps and she almost finished half the roast earlier in panic after Kathryn mentioned the dreaded b-word. She was a wreck.

Martyn, sweet man that he was, deflected the conversation whenever it arose. He got her wine for when she was jittery, cuddles when she needed him close, and took her on long walks along the coastline when she needed to clear her head.

Man was beautiful, always. It was calm, placid, serene, quiet - beautiful even on turbulent evenings and rainy mornings. It was always easiest to write songs in places like these, to wax lyrical about the finest creations the world has to offer and the metaphors behind them.

Maybe she was being pretentious - Dan’s evidently a bad influence on her - but true art is bred in places like these, after all.

“Hey,” she said, on a quiet morning, “do you think we could ever retire here?”

Martyn shrugged, “‘m a city boy meself, but if that’s what you want, I’d do it.”

He was always too nice to her, wanted her to be happy most of all.

Cornelia asked, “Will _you_ be happy here, you think?”

He sighed seriously, shoulders drooping, “Bit lonely, innit? Especially if…if it’s just the two of us. Might go a bit mental without some city entertainment.”

She took his hand, kissed his knuckles. “Y’right. And I’m sorry, for what it’s worth. I don’t think I’ve said that enough.”

He gazed at her, and it’s reminiscent of the years past - showing up at her doorstep with flowers asking her on a spontaneous fourth date, showing up with flowers on _their_ doorstep after two weeks of radio silence and quiet contemplation - the look of unfiltered adoration in his eyes.

“ _Don’t_ be. I shouldn’t have been so...dismissive about it initially - I’m sorry for that. And I...I could handle a life without a baby, but not one without you.”

She rapped her knuckles to his cheek, watched as they pressed a pretty pink blush.

“You’re so. I adore you, you know. If I hadn’t met you that night in Manchester, I would have spent my life waiting for you. I write music and it’s all for you.”

Honest confessions in the sunrise - that was what Man was all about.

“But your _mum_ ,” she whispered, wrapped up in his arms, “what do I do?”

Martyn’s chest was steady beneath her and his grip tightened around her hips. “Do what you need to do, sweetheart. Stay true to your principles, be honest. I have your back.”

“Oh,” she murmured into his chest, “I think you have all of me. Forever.”

“What would I do with an extra kidney, though. Have extra pee? That’s kinda cool,” he replied, laughing.

“You arse!” she exclaimed, playfully pushing him away. “I was being _romantic._ ”

“I know. Now let’s talk shop - do you still need your lungs, you think?”

 

-

 

That evening, Scrabble and Prosecco.

Kathryn saying, “Aw, imagine lil’ tots playing board games with us, how _precious_ ” - and both Dan and Phil giving her discreet looks of sympathy, Martyn inching closer to her side.

In all honesty, she was getting sick of how pathetic she felt.

And so, finishing her wine and making an executive decision, she said, “Maybe no munchkins for us,” gesturing to herself and Martyn, “but I’m sure Dan and Phil will deliver on that front.”

She looked up to silence from Nigel and Kathryn’s pinched lemon expression. Pride in the eyes of her favourite three boys in front of her.

“You’re joking,” Kathryn scoffed, playing it off.

“No, I’m not?”

“B-but,” Kathryn spluttered. “You _don’t_? That’s _not_ , that’s not...but you’re a _woman_.”

The boys winced and Martyn looked close to an argument, hilariously enough, and all Cornelia felt was sadness that her gender was reduced to this, to a single-minded archaic Purpose. Traditionalism was the bane of her existence, and she’s spent her life trying to defy norms and just be _different_ \- this was the climax.

She nodded. “Yes, I am, Kath. I am a proud woman, in fact. And I will continue to be one regardless of whether I procreate or not. I’m sorry I can’t be enough of a woman for you, but Martyn and I have come to terms with this and I’m hoping you can too.”

There. Out there.

And then, she heard Nigel say, “We’ll always support you and Martyn. Never doubt that. We might need some time to understand this, is all.”

Her eyes brimmed with tears, and Kathryn still looked vaguely disgruntled, arguing lowly with her husband. Martyn grabbed her close,conveyed her unsaid gratitude to those in the room, and took her out for a walk.

 

-

 

“That went better than expected?”

“Your mum was _this_ ,” thumb and index fingers spread an inch apart, “close to throttling me, but other than that…”

“Alright?”

“Yeah, alright.”

 

-

 

She was cleaning pans in the kitchen when someone cleared their throat behind her.

“Mum?”

It was Phil.

“Mum, are you alright?”

She sighed, stacking the next utensil on the shelf beside her. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“ _Well_ ,” Phil started, seeing through her petulance, “you seemed disappointed earlier.”

“How long have you known?” she asked, curious. How long had they kept this from her, she wondered earlier, hurt.

“Only a year or two, Mum. But I know she hasn’t wanted children from the beginning.”

How can a woman not want children? Traditional as motherhood may be, it was total joy raising another human being, making someone kind and compassionate even when the rest of the world wasn’t. She never regretted her son meeting Cornelia, but the conversation earlier made her come close.

“Mum. Sorry, but you’re being selfish.”

She turned to him, discarding the last pot. “No, she’s making a _mistake_ , Phil. She will lose out on one of the best experiences a woman could have, and for what? For a few extra bucks playing performances? Who will take care of the two when they’re old and grey? _She’s_ being selfish.”

Phil put his hand on her shoulder. “Are you listening to yourself, though? I love you, Mum, but this is not right. She made a decision long ago and we have to honour it. If not for her, then do it for Martyn. They’ve done a lot for the family, and it’s _Christmas_ , Mum. No judgements.”

She sighed, mulling it over. Maybe the fight _has_ ended, no room for alterations now. She’s going to have to live with it, Phil’s right, and she refuses to compromise her relationship with her eldest son over this.

“Okay,” she heaved a breath, and wondered when it would start getting easier.

 

-

 

Christmas was a time for love and forgiveness, and those two were lacking in the world, unfortunately. Cornelia _does_ emotions, though. Largely her problems lie with too many thoughts and feelings, jumbled up in one.

She wasn’t angry. Far from it, even. She was sad in the general sense, but not in a regretful sort of way - never like that. She could never regret That Decision - given her circumstances, it’s for the best. She was relieved, though, that all of it was out. Whether or not she’d be accepted by the woman she held so closely to her heart, there were no more secrets. (It was kinda difficult, in retrospect, to feel any sadness about that.)

“You sure you don’t want anything to put you on before dinner?” a hesitant voice sounded behind her, and her stomach turned in on itself instantly.

“Kath,” Cornelia said, turning around to face her from where she was nursing a cup of warm tea and watching the birds flock to the postbox outside, musing softly in the drizzly evening. They were due to leave tomorrow and she hadn’t spoken to Kathryn since the blowout, both stewing in their respective feelings. “Nah, not that hungry yet, but _thank you_.”

Kathryn smiled - a small smile but an upturn of lips nonetheless - and approached her on the patio.

“I feel like I owe you an apology. Of sorts,” she said quickly.

Cornelia isn’t sure who told her what, but the sudden change in mood must’ve been induced by one of the boys, she thinks, the ones who love her and their mum the most. She felt eternally grateful that of all families she could’ve wound up in, it was the Lesters who opened their arms so widely to her - who took her in, questionable hair colour and all.

“No, _no_ ,” she replied, just as fast. “You don’t owe me anything, Kath. You reacted as any surprised mother would have.” And it was the truth.

“I wasn’t as surprised, though,” she said, idly picking dead leaves off her rose plants. “In some abstract way, I _did_ know. I just refused to acknowledge it because...because I want children around again, of course. Ones I can call my own.”

She looked tired, Kathryn did, and Cornelia’s heart clenched pitifully in her chest.

Kathryn asked, one last time, “And you’re _sure_ about this, then?” Hope in her eyes, and feet pigeon-toed, worn fingers clasped together - Cornelia was about to disappoint her once more.

She nodded, lip quivering and tears pooling.

“Yes, I am.”

And Kathryn rushed to her side, wrapped her in a big hug as they sobbed into each other’s necks, exhausted tears. They were feeling remarkably different things, Cornelia thought, but shared camaraderie in that moment.

They weren’t alone. They’d always have each other.

 

**Author's Note:**

> ah, alright, as usual, i meant to cast no aspersions on the characters - i'm sure they're wonderful irl. 
> 
> happy birth of baby jesus, claire! i loved reading your fics this year, and i wish you (and everyone reading this) a blessed year ahead!
> 
> [fic post](http://phanetixs.tumblr.com/post/181487467239/fic-go-follow-your-gem)


End file.
